


Worlds Away

by PhantomWriter



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire & Related Fandoms, A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV), The Umbrella Academy (TV)
Genre: Crossover, F/M, Gen, Post Umbrella Academy Season 1, Pre-Canon, Rebirth to a different body
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-11-19
Updated: 2020-11-19
Packaged: 2021-03-10 01:00:47
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 15,534
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27625087
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/PhantomWriter/pseuds/PhantomWriter
Summary: Five took a leap back in time, supposedly with his brothers and sisters, except he woke up as the proverbial acorn in Reginald's warning all those years ago.He woke up alone, in a different body, and in a different world that could only be from the pages of a fantasy saga.In which Five was born Steffon Baratheon, the firstborn son of Stannis Baratheon, and the heir of Dragonstone.
Relationships: Number Five | The Boy & Shireen Baratheon, Number Five | The Boy & Stannis Baratheon, Stannis Baratheon & Davos Seaworth
Comments: 9
Kudos: 56





	Worlds Away

**The Boy Who Leapt**

He was close to the age of five when his cognition was developed enough to realize he had messed up with the time travel by appearing as an acorn.

Not a _literal_ acorn, mind, but somewhere along the lines that Reginald warned him about. He looked like himself—at least, what he thought he looked like at age four—sans the different color of eyes that happened to be deep blue and the thick black hair atop his head. But the fact remained that this wasn’t his actual body that he was supposed to retain when he traveled back in time. He had been _born_ naturally to this world, wherever this was, and was growing organically. If those weren’t enough signs that he had gotten his calculation all wrong, he even had _biological_ parents to speak of. 

Did he mention the apparently primitive world he was now living in? He was not only in the wrong body; he was also in the wrong century! 

Experimentally, Five tested his small fists and mustered the strength to open a portal. He looked ridiculous with his scrunched up face with baby fat on the mirror but paid it no mind as he tried to call forth…

Nothing. Not even a small hole in space. Nothing. _Nothing!_

He felt an alarming swell of panic when there was hardly a crackle or a spike of energy in the air after his fifth try. 

Five wanted to punch the mirror in anger, counterproductive that might be, and thought back on what he got wrong. His head, thankfully, was clear of any useless childhood memories of this body he was occupying, though he struggled to remember every bit of detail before coming here which, technically, was four years or so ago. 

He calmed down eventually and started pacing. He recalled the Apocalypse and how Vanya was connected to it. She was the reason for it several centuries in the future, and Five, Vanya, and the rest of their siblings were supposed to get back to their childhood to help her. But fuck that, apparently, because he didn’t know whether they were present at this time as well. It was likely that they were all scattered in time, and Five hoped that nobody landed in the Paleozoic Era, or worse, in the Mesozoic Era. 

Five huffed and brushed his hair back in irritation. The best course of action, for now, was to learn all he can about this time as much as he could if he was going to live here for a while longer while he was looking for A) a way to get back his powers and B) an alternate way to get back in his intended timeline. Normally, the first one should suffice, but after two consecutive mistakes, he wasn’t going to test his luck again without some sort of assurance. 

He couldn’t seem to wipe the scowl off his face, knowing there was an impending headache over his newfound situation. He stood straight and pursed his lips as he studied himself. He took note of the era-appropriate clothing he was wearing: a small simple tunic of light blue adorned with embroidered black deers (?) across his chest. His dark trousers were of the same quality of cloth. It was _weird_ on his skin, but this was coming from someone who spent most of his years wearing an academy uniform. 

It was dark in the room, with walls unpainted but smooth and cool, almost damp, to the touch. The interior was bare except for the necessary bed and chests to keep his clothes that weren’t excessively plenty. There was a table with books that contained mostly colorful illustrations and a bare minimum of texts that Five could roughly understand. He paused, intrigued, and it took him a moment to realize something: it was a text that he thought he should know of if it was part of ancient history, except it _wasn’t,_ and there was only one plausible explanation that encompassed all of these. 

He was not in his own world anymore. 

☂☂☂☂☂

In the midst of discovering his currently-not-present ability was capable of developing beyond his previous knowledge of it, and not knowing whether to be fascinated or pissed off that it didn’t allow him to test its extent, Five noted a couple of things. 

He had servants who did his bidding and fetched him everything as if he was an invalid who couldn’t do shit as simple as dressing himself. He allowed it since he was a four-year-old in their eyes, and as it turned out he was the lord’s son named Steffon Baratheon, the first-born of the Lord of Dragonstone, the name of this drab and dreary castle with a pleasant view of the raging seas. The island was often the first to behold harsh storms on occasion, as some said. A fortress with a single way in and out. 

The castle itself was as imposing as it could get with the sheer cliffs that beset it, the enormous carved stone dragons that seemingly formed its entirety, and the sculptures of monstrosities that made for its crenellations. Though despite its architecture that was admittedly impressive but Five remained unsure what to make out of, and the lack of electricity and the relative dimness inside Dragonstone, the place was an improvement than the neverending view of a desolated post-apocalyptic earth, wreckage of scorched land and rubbles—the sole scenery which Five’s eyes had feasted on for almost half a century. 

Basically, being in a wholly separate universe was a pro and con in itself. Con: he had no way to get out of here. Pro: he was literally worlds away from the Commission. 

The company, meanwhile, was still up to his judgment. They were a quiet bunch, this family of his. His Lord Father was a dour, unsmiling man with features that Five could also see on his face, like the strong jaw, the black hair, and the blue eyes. His Lady Mother was a thin and tall woman, almost as tall as his father, and plain in the face with prominently large ears. She hardly spoke and kept to herself. Their suppers were solemn affairs overall which worked fine with Five who wasn’t one for small chatters either. He could get used to it, he believed, and he had no issue with these sullen meals. 

That was until he heard his father called for a servant to send food in Shireen’s room and to feed her. 

Shireen was a girl of two who was a younger sister and was never allowed to join them at the table during meals. 

“Why?” Five found himself asking, confused and mildly annoyed at the squeak of his child-voice. “Why is Shireen not eating with us?”

His father looked stricken that for a second Five thought there might be an imposed rule of not speaking on the table like Reginald and that Stannis was about to throw Five out for his insolence. But the way he gritted his teeth and the contrite expression said otherwise. 

It was his mother who answered in a low voice, “Shireen’s illness is contagious, Steffon. Perhaps after another a year or so it’ll be safe for her to share the table with us.” 

Five frowned and was about to ask what kind of illness it was that they made it sound like it was measles that could last for years—maybe it _was_ measles—but he didn’t feign ignorance to the sudden heavy air. To think that his younger sister was a touchy subject. _This scenario sounds familiar._

It was past midnight of the third day when he slipped into the farthest room in the hall where Shireen was situated. The security was decent for a large castle and few men, but it was no modern building with extra measures. Five waited for the maid checking in on Shireen to exit and relieve the man outside Shireen’s room. 

She was awake under the meager lighting by the nightstand when Five entered, her blue eyes widening upon him. She had long dark hair like his and was a small thing, maybe a little smaller than what befitted her age, who immediately backed away in a corner to curl herself close. 

“Do you know me?” Five asked, not moving from his spot lest he scared her further. When she merely blinked at him, he said, “I’m your brother.”

It jolted her out of her shell, and Five could see her curiosity piqued. “Steffon,” she murmured in a quiet voice. 

Five nodded. “It’s me.” Could he get used to being called by a name aside from Five? He didn’t look and feel like a ‘Steffon’. “How old are you, Shireen?” 

She raised two fingers with uncertainty, and Five nodded again encouragingly. “You’re two,” he said, earning him a shy smile. Five didn’t risk startling her so he approached the chair instead and sat across from her. Shireen stared at him with a bit of awe and wonder that Five didn’t know what to do with. 

“Shouldn’t you be sleeping?” He pointed at the open book with several drawn pictures. “Are you reading?” 

“Dragons,” she told him as she stood near the table to get the book to show him herself. “Many dragons.”

The candlelight touched her skin and it was when Five remembered the reason why she was adamantly kept away. The side of her cheek was marred by a dark scar that ran down that side of her neck. Five squinted; it was a thick patch of grey skin. She noticed him staring and turned away and ran back to her previous side of the room. 

“Shireen sick,” she said meekly. “Don’t come here.”

Five stood with a frown but didn’t move over to where she was. “I understand. I will go now. I will visit you again tomorrow, Shireen. Is that okay?”

He could see her eyes rounding at him before she answered, “Yes,” and a moment later, “Good night, Steffon.”

Her clear earnest hope for another visit allayed what consternation he might have. “You too, Shireen. Don’t stay up late much.”

☂☂☂☂☂

Dragonstone had its own maester, an appointed scholar by their order quartered in a place called the Citadel, to oversee the education of the children in noble families and to advise the lord he was serving. Maesters specialized in numerous fields of study, and Maester Cressen was no different, with the chains he wore on his neck that signified his various expertise. He was a suitable person to teach Five what he needed to know of this world. 

Five could tell that Maester Cressen was pleased to teach a boy who was eager to learn and ask questions, and not difficult to keep seated for long hours with a quill and parchment in hand. Writing with a feather and ink left much to be desired, but it wasn’t like Five had other options. The books and scrolls he read often have faded texts, handwritten as they were. The amount of adjustment left him out of his depth, but Five eventually learned to inure himself to the inconveniences he was encountering—starting with the lack of caffeine in this godforsaken world—and possibly more in the foreseeable future. 

Seeing as he was an actual fifty-three-year-old in a four-year-old body, as much as Five was determined to ignore the ridiculousness of it, his progress in reading and writing in the Common Tongue was deemed impressive. He was fortunate that his mind remained its acuity, and his sharp memory and quick learning were of immense advantage. Learning the sums was easier work since it was basic mathematics compared to the arithmetic he was used to, and by the end of the month, Five excelled in sums and was learning the fundamentals of High Valyrian. 

His father and mother were informed of his progress, and once or twice his father would nod at him in approval during meals while his mother looked at him with pride in her eyes. They were the kind of people not easily impressed, of that Five was sure, and their reticence was welcomed since he wasn’t here to please anyone in the first place. 

Shireen was yet to make a presence at the table, and with the lack of progress in that part, Five took the matter into his own hands, starting with outright asking Maester Cressen what Shireen’s illness was and why it was treated as contagious when Five managed to visit every evening since without catching the illness himself. Suffice to say, the maester was rather alarmed at this revelation.

“It’s called greyscale,” he told Five carefully. “Shireen contracted greyscale as an infant, and it would have killed your sister if not for Lord Stannis’ persistence to send for anyone who could help save her. That perseverance and Shireen’s determination to live helped in curing her while young.” 

“If she’s cured then why are they keeping her away?”

His pause was meaningful. “Truthfully, child, she’s the first case who was cured of the illness. The less fortunate are sent away to live their lives as stone men. We do not know if the illness remains contagious, and, loathe as I am to let Shireen be secluded from most people, it is a safer arrangement since she’s not the only child that resides in Dragonstone.”

Five frowned. “You’re keeping her away from me.”

“It is for the best,” the maester said gently, regretful and embarrassed. “You might not understand, but you will when you’re older.”

Five scoffed at that though stayed silent throughout the rest of the lessons for the day. He was drawing up ways as to how he would go about this. He was presently in a child’s body, and in a societal backwater adhering to the strict feudal structure, he was going to have a hard time being heard as long as he was yet to prove himself. He was _lucky_ to be born male at least. 

Stannis reminded him of Reginald, in some respects. They were both stern that Five had no difficulty to be in the same room with him during the minimal interactions they had. Stannis’ disposition helped in maintaining Five’s discipline. Like Reginald, Stannis spoke unless necessary and was a no-nonsense kind of man. Direct honesty would work well with him. 

“Father, I require an audience.”

If Stannis was surprised at his demand, he didn’t show it. He set down the letter that he was holding and gave his attention to Five. “Very well.” 

He regarded him heavily, holding Five’s eyes straight as if he was another adult—he _was—_ and Five acknowledged the man even more for not outright dismissing this as a childish whim. 

“I’m here to speak about Shireen and her seclusion,” said Five. “I inquired about her illness and the recovery of her health. To my understanding, you’d rather separate her from me as to not pass on the greyscale you’re not certain if still active. I’m here to inform you that you have no cause for worry.”

Stannis’ eyebrow rose minutely, probably not expecting the barrage of words from a young boy. He was unfazed, however, and simply replied, “Maester Cressen doesn’t exaggerate then that you’re learning fast,” he began, “but that doesn’t mean that you’re learned of the greyscale to have your own opinion on the matter, I don’t think.”

His even sarcastic tone made Five bristle and tempted to hiss. He wasn’t going to give him the pleasure, though. “You speak true, Father, but I’d like to think that I know firsthand what I speak of,” he shot back coolly. “After all, I visit her during the evenings.”

That got a rise out of Stannis. “What?”

“I visit Shireen in the evenings to read to her and assist her with her letters. And I believe my company made her articulate.”

“You’re here to confess your disobedience then. I expected more from you, boy.”

“That’s what you take from what I said?” Five fought down his own growing temper. “Are you that ashamed of your daughter that you think I’m more important than her? Is it going to be like this from now on, you hiding her from the rest of the world because she’s disfigured?”

Five hit home with his words and reveled on the shame and anger warring on Stannis’ face for a split-second before he gritted down his teeth. “I’ll have no more of your insolence, boy. I’ve heard you, and you’re done speaking. Out and be off to bed. I won’t be lectured on how to raise my child by a boy.”

Five tempered down his own irritation and struggled to keep calm. “Thank you for hearing me out, _Father._ I bid you good evening.”

If he slammed the door on his way out, no one was there to chastise him for it. 

☂☂☂☂☂

He met the Onion Knight a couple of days later. Davos was someone known around Dragonstone, though he was frequently running Stannis’ errands as his right-hand man of sorts and therefore on the seas more often than not. The closest and most loyal person to Stannis, Five had heard, and he had easily dismissed him as another of those entitled idiots futilely vying for the favor of the Lord of Dragonstone. At first. 

Davos was not as expected, and when Five learned of Stannis’ character better, it made sense that D

He was not related to Selyse’s family and not highborn, that was for sure. He looked… normal, as normal as anyone could be in this time and place. He was an unassuming man whose voice and advice Stannis listened to. Once, Five heard him asking about him _and_ Shireen, and when he spotted Five in person, he was eager to speak to him to ask about his day like he honestly cared about a boy’s mundane routine of lessons and sleeping on time. Five learned that his fifth son would be joining them in his lessons next year, a suggestion from Stannis that extended to any of Davos’ children that he would have, and which Davos accepted graciously, if with a bit of genuine embarrassment. 

Davos' presence at Dragonstone, though, meant that Stannis was bound for the capital again soon. King’s Landing was a place that Steffon had not been brought before since his birth. For someone holding a position in the royal council, Stannis’ attendance was needed quite often. He was the younger brother of the current king, making Five related to the royal family he was yet to see. 

“I was told that you spend a lot of time with your sister recently.” Davos smiled as if pleased. It was the first time that he struck up a conversation with Five alone. Davos pulled out a package and unwrapped a small bundle to produce two wooden sculptures of a doe and a stag. “Here. I made them myself for your two. Just a little trinket. Perhaps you can pass the other to Shireen?”

They were masterfully made, and if Five didn’t think that Davos wasn’t the type to have idle hands, he would have thought that he bought them. “Thank you, ser. Shireen will like this.” He believed she would, for the sentimental value that it had aside from the craftsmanship.

Davos looked thoughtful and then he was immediately beside Five, crouching to his level without difficulty. “Pardon if it’s intrusive of me, but… your father told me that you and him had a disagreement.” 

It _was_ kind of intrusive since that was a family matter, though Stannis held Davos in high regard and confidence that he might have opened up the issue to him. Imagining Stannis asking for advice on how to deal with his son was a tad amusing. Still, that spoke of Davos’ role in Stannis’ life beyond his station. “We had, ser,” Five said curtly.

“And it’s about Shireen.” He stared at Five with a knowing kind smile. “Well, to tell you the truth, I’m glad you spoke to him. He’s a good man, your father, and a good listener, but he admits as much that he doesn’t know how to deal with Shireen and her health. He might seem angry at you for calling him out, but do know that he thought of what you said. If anything, he’s angrier than himself for not noticing his inadequacy.”

_Wouldn’t have guessed it._ Their talk was forgotten as if it didn’t happen in the first place. If his mother knew of it, she didn't say. _No one_ in this family said anything at all about what was on their mind, especially on things that should be communicated properly, and no one outside the family had the gall to point out how poorly the members interacted with each other. Until Davos, that was, and that made him a unique character that would likely be constant for as long as he lived as Steffon. 

“When will you be leaving with Father?” Five asked instead. 

“The day after the morrow,” Davos told him, not minding the change of subject. “He’ll return as soon as he can. You know him, he doesn’t want to stay in the capital for too long unless necessary.” 

_Nor did he want to stay longer in Dragonstone_ , Five noticed. 

Davos ruffled his hair affectionately before he left, and Five should be annoyed at the gesture except that he found no reason to think ill of it. He was not a sentimental person starved for a semblance of tenderness, yet he realized that it was the first act of warmth that he received and it was not even from the people who were supposed to be his family. 

His father and Davos departed for King’s Landing in their dictated time, and Five got to send them off with Cressen who encouraged him. Neither Five nor Stannis mentioned any apology, though there was an unstated understanding reached when Shireen started joining her mother and older brother for meals. Selyse, for all that she was the same woman who bore Shireen, was ill at ease in the new arrangement but was promptly ignored by the child she only considered precious. It was just as well that Five couldn’t care less for what she thought as he continuously paid his attention to Shireen alone. 

☂☂☂☂☂

Five learned enough of this world’s history to figure out that the closest way for him to return to his own world and timeline was through magic, a prevalent force that seemed to be beyond the scope of what could be simply undiscovered science in a world stunted of advancement. The higher mysteries, as what Maester Cressen called it.

Dragons were not mere fantasy here; they had lived and breathed during the previous centuries, and it wasn't so long ago that the dynasty that brought them to Westeros fell. The Baratheon line even had the blood of the Targaryen in them, a fact which he was advised not to mention especially in the presence of his uncle the king. 

Five considered carefully the possibilities available to him. Magic was now a stuff of myth in a large part of this world, and, unfortunately for him, he was presently residing within that part. The study of magic was certainly available within the order of the maesters. Five briefly entertained that route—and instantly dismissed the option that would exact heavy commitment with an uncertain end. He could be one of those who set out for the east where magic was more prominent. There were Asshai and parts of Essos that were no stranger to the supernatural, though should Five continue to that path instead he could also kiss goodbye his chance of returning unharmed. It was a challenge that he was usually willing to take on but not in an unknown world with unknown risks and uncharted territories, and not without his spatial jumps. 

Idly, he thought of embarking to the east, specifically to Bravos where books told of a society of assassins. The religious aspect of it was a bit much, perhaps; killing in the name of a god was an absurd way of justifying it when in the end it boiled down to getting paid for a life in return. He was a killing machine before, and he could certainly be one again... if not for the inexplicable disquietude that settled in the pit of his stomach when he dwelled on it. 

He concluded eventually that it wouldn't matter which option he would choose for the future. There was a reason why barely anyone believed in magic and why the magic practitioners were labeled as frauds here: magic was dead on this land. Five was free to waste his years studying them, but it would be a useless endeavor unless he was planning to jump-start magic itself. 

For now, the safest for him to do was continue being the dutiful son to a lord. He was the heir to a great house, cousins to princes and a princess, his uncles a king and another a high lord of the castle that used to be the king and his father’s home. Titles, his name, and familial connections _—these_ were the power he was holding now.

Although he was not going to become an assassin at the right age (or never in this world, maybe), he was not about to neglect the skills he still possessed. He hugely relied on his powers, but he wouldn’t be useless without it either. His muscles might not remember but there was still time to hone his body and build it to withstand the exertion he would be putting on it. There were no firearms to master here, but he could practice sharpshooting for archery and knife throwing. Stealth killing could be useful too if given the opportunity. Hand-to-hand combat would see the least utilization, seeing as most fighting men were wearing armor or mail that would hurt Five first before he could land a blow with his fists. Still, it wouldn't hurt to practice them together with swordplay. 

He would have to learn soon how to ride a horse, a promise he was not thrilled about. He would have sores and muscle aches in places that would impede his progress on the physical arts, but, as expected, they would be part of the inconveniencies he already knew he would face. It would be no different than the start of his training at the Commission, or, heck, at the start of Reginald’s training. Ironically, focusing on a new purpose made his mind clearer. 

Five began by, well, letting himself grow. He maintained the necessary ten hours of sleep, and without the need to visit Shireen so late at night anymore, his biological clock easily adapted. He took in supplemental protein and calcium he could get. Say what you would about the bleak Dragonstone, the place never lacked organic hearty food ( _but coffee_ ) and the stores and larders were well-stocked. He believed a part of it was largely due to the siege Stannis’ once withstood. It was peacetime now, yes, but his father was pragmatic enough to prepare for worst-case scenarios that also extended to economic conditions. The entire household was frugal in their spending, and while Dragonstone didn’t boast a lavish furnishing, the coffers were full and handled suitably, with the accounting as proof of it.

He was a voracious reader, much to Maester Cressen’s delight. It was a trait that he shared with Shireen who remained a quiet girl but livelier and happier now that she was able to discover the world outside the four corners of her room. She found a friend in Devan, Davos’ fifth son, and treated him like a younger sibling who followed her around like a duckling. Devan inherited his father’s temperament and genial nature, and he was a polite and clever boy who treated Shireen as a friend in return and with no small admiration toward Five. Five’s enthusiasm to learn was infectious that his sister wasn’t dawdling on her advancement with the alphabet and sums, with Devan closely following her. 

In the afternoons, he explored Aegon’s Garden with an interest in climbing the tall dark trees knowing it would be a worthwhile routine, together with swimming, a required drill for Stannis' men. Sometimes, he simply strolled around the garden to meditate alone or watch Shireen and Devan play their games while he engaged in a book on the rich histories of noble houses. The garden had a pleasant piney scent, without the pollution that Five grew accustomed to. 

Months came and went around him, lost between his study of history, languages, and house sigils and their words. He took a keen interest in pisciculture, a primary source of Dragonstone’s profit, and the traffic of trade on the island. By extension, he learned more about proper bookkeeping and accounting, two responsibilities that several lords normally passed over to a maester. Not Stannis, though, and he certainly wanted his heir to follow his example. 

He was able to draw out the intelligent young girl under Shireen’s shyness over her looks. She loved him as her older brother, and while she was no Vanya or Allison, the only true sisters Five knew of, he developed a fierce protectiveness for her that was close to familial affection. Devan, on the other hand, was proving to be a capable and equally loyal companion to him and Shireen, the same way Davos was to Stannis. Better for Shireen to have such a person to look out for her when Five wasn’t around.

Ironically, his name day was during the first day of the tenth moon because _of course_ . His birthdays were celebrated with minimal fanfare, and practically like any other day but with gifts. Stannis’ younger brother, an uncle named Renly that Five was yet to see in person, wasn’t remiss when it came to sending him extravagant birthday presents that were pretty to look at but basically useless. The display of wealth didn’t fail to annoy his father who likely expected his son to be fascinated at the toys showered on him. Jokes on Renly, _and_ Stannis, when Five spared only a blink at the detailed miniature of Storm’s End, the castle of House Baratheon where Stannis also grew up, complete with painted knights and tapestries. Five composed a perfunctory note of gratitude to be sent back to his lord uncle but otherwise dismissed the gift with a snort and graciously passed it to Shireen and Devan to play with. They would like that. 

“You don’t like it?” Stannis asked, and at this point, Five knew how to read him. He was perplexed and genuinely curious about his reason. He sounded bitter too, but Five didn’t really pay it mind after he discovered that Storm’s End was a sore topic to his father. 

“It’s detailed.” Five shrugged. “But an accurate map of the castle itself will be more useful.”

“It’s a replica of my home,” Stannis’ pointed out, though as to what end, Five was lost. “I may not approve of my brother’s frivolity and perhaps an attempt at a jab at me, but since I can’t show you around Storm’s End myself, that model is the closest way you can see it.”

Or Stannis could just drop Steffon by the castle during a visit to his younger brother. Then again this was Stannis, a proud man who didn’t forget slights easily and who Maester Cressen himself said never visited Storm’s End unless it was for royal business ever since the castle was handed over to the youngest brother of the king and not the oldest. 

“I’m not about to throw it out, Father. I’m giving it to Shireen who can learn more about it since she doesn’t get to hear your insights on the defensive strength of the castle and the ins and outs of it that made it an impenetrable stronghold.” He cocked his head in thought. He suspected magic interwoven in its fortification. “Perhaps I can see it for myself when I’m older.”

It was a grimace to anyone, but Five could see that his father was fighting down the urge to smile with the twitch of his lips. “You will,” he muttered and there was a light touch at the small of Five’s back that he registered as his father’s large hand. He was not affectionate, true, but Five oddly found that the little and somewhat awkward gestures were far preferable than his words of approval. 

Five was more curious than anything where that surge of satisfaction came from. Was it from this new body that he had? It resembled what Five owned back in his own world, but this was not actually _his._ All this body’s biological makeup would not find it strange to seek the pull from what it recognized as its biological family. And yet there was something else as well, something innately Five’s whichever body he might be occupying. As Five himself, he respected Stannis and his character. He was flawed and by no means the perfect parent, but he was trying his best by always being present on the days significant to his children even if it meant briefly leaving his duties at the capital. Five could admire how Stannis adhered strongly to his own principles and was terrifyingly just when it came to punishment and reward. Not to mention that he was a tried and tested battle commander who had his fair share of victories, and his most recent one during the Greyjoy Rebellion only a couple of months before Five came into awareness in his new body. 

He was not a likable person, and Five could only imagine less so in the capital where most of the political maneuvering was happening. He acknowledged Stannis’ analytical mind sharp with enough wits and cunning to govern both Dragonstone and King’s Landing. Politics was politics no matter the era and world, it seemed, and Stannis appeared to be capable of handling it in large doses. 

In a few years, Five would be stepping in the same pit of vipers that Stannis claimed King’s Landing as. He would be presented in the court, and only then Five could gauge for himself the king and his advisors that were keeping the kingdom together, and so were the people in line for the throne and the people that make up the court. 

The years that preceded that fateful day were spent in training in arms. The wooden sword was distasteful, though he etched it in his mind that he was technically starting from scratch. He was too short for a spear, the master-at-arms said, but Five could be taught once he gained a couple of inches. The lance put him in awkward handling though he was told to be showing promise. His bow arm had to be trained as well to shoot exactly where his eyes wanted it to be. Knifeplay was the easiest to pick up on again, though it was his coordination that needed a fair bit of work. Thankfully, he remained nimble on his feet, and his stamina wasn’t laughable either with his present age. He burnt out excessive energy throughout the day and fed his body what it needed. 

A struggle he didn’t expect to meet was keeping tabs of the time without a way to tell him the exact hour, minute, and seconds. He suspected that this world wasn’t operating under the usual twenty-four hours, though he had no means to prove it. He stuck to the belief that it was twenty-four-seven a week, the easiest basis though not entirely accurate if he was planning to include it in his equations for a return trip once he, hopefully, got his powers back. Unless, of course, he was the person to invent a clock in this place, and wouldn’t that be for the history books? 

He set aside any plans for deviation in his current path of being the heir of Dragonstone. Not hard to take up the role of a young boy preparing to be a future lord. He was not quite certain yet how the title he would inherit could help him create a way back home; not only there would be less freedom in a position of power, there would also be heavy responsibilities that would come with it. And although he was taking the only viable choice, Five was not prepared to face the huge possibility that he would remain here until old age, once more spending his years in a distant timeline, alone. 

He could only hope that his siblings weren’t scattered in time and were in the same world they escaped from. Doubtless, they were arguing among themselves how they would proceed, and they would make up and try to do better by Vanya. Allison or Luther would ask where Five was, but they would be convinced that he was off somewhere minding his own business as they sort themselves out. Five snorted. Each had their own personal issues that they needed to deal with first, but they would manage, that he knew. His brothers and sisters both changed and stayed true to their person at the same time since he left them years ago. It was as if a far off time now, thinking about it. 

Five presently had a new family, with a father, a mother, a sibling, and uncles. A nuclear family was not a part of the experience when you were one of the adopted children of Reginald Hargreeves. Reginald, who stood in as their father, was an entirely different league of his own, both as a parent and an individual. Grace, who had the role of a mother, was basically an extension of Reginald that was allowed to care for them, and yet she was closer to a human than Reginald ever was. She might have been perfect if not for her obvious nature. 

Steffon Baratheon’s mother, the Lady Selyse, was an austere woman of plain appearance and equally unremarkable with her lack of charisma and passive attitude. There were plenty of similarities in her and Stannis’ disposition that clashed horribly, proving that likeness repelled each other. She was closer to her Florent kin who resided in Dragonstone with her, while she and Stannis acted like strangers toward each other. It was a cold display of union, but who was Five to judge? 

Selyse didn’t dote on him or Shireen and had long accepted that there would be more of her husband in her children than her. It was mostly thanks to her that Dragonstone functions as a well-oiled machine during Stannis’ absence, and that was one thing her husband must have liked in her. She took care of her son and daughter with adequate warmth and affection, almost like a housemaid than a mother, and Selyse’s feelings towards her biological children puzzled Five when he compared it to Allison’s toward Claire. Claire was loved by her mother who couldn’t stay far from her. 

Selyse was a mystery that edged around Five’s mind whenever he caught her watching him from a distance. She hardly smiled, and when she did it was the tired one tinged with relief and misery that bemused Five despite his mental age. He was pushing sixty and he couldn’t seem to understand Selyse. 

Until there came an evening when Five’s young body fell prey to common colds that demanded him confined to the bed while his fever cooled down. It was the maester that he saw for the better part of the day, coming and going in his room to replace his towel and to check his temperature. Five was lying on his bed, seething at his weak immune system and his sore throat, wanting to get it over with. He was horrendously bored after reading proved to be tiresome and made his eyes hot and aching. Shireen wasn’t even allowed to visit him. 

He was drifting in and out of sleep, waking to hate the feeling of being sick and treated like a cripple—highlighted by his healing sprained wrist from a trick counter he was practicing with the shield—and sleeping to earn rest for this fragile body. He was in the middle of loathing the unpleasantness of repeating his growth from childhood to puberty and puberty to adulthood when his lady mother entered the dark room quietly. 

She was clearly not expecting him to be awake, though she didn’t reprimand him, not that she ever did other than disapproving glances. She gingerly sat down on the lone chair by the bed and asked, “How are you feeling?” 

Five stared at her for a moment with a bout of cough behind his throat. “Thirsty.”

He watched her move methodically, reaching for his forehead to check his fever. She wordlessly wrung out another wet cloth to replace the one warmed over and then pulled the blankets up his chin. 

“Thank you,” he rasped and coughed. “It’s late. Aren’t you sleeping?”

“I want to check on you,” came her voice that was almost a whisper. “Maester Cressen said it’s only a fever, but I want to make sure. I confess that I didn’t believe him at first. I thought it was...” She swallowed. “I didn’t have the strength to see you earlier so I prayed and prayed that it wouldn’t worsen. I feared that… I feared that you would...”

_That I’ll die,_ he thought. He was not unaware of the two stillbirths she had before Steffon, and there was Shireen who got the illness as an infant. A fever was not the same, but Five could see a little where her panic came from. 

“I will be alright,” he said simply, firmly. _I won’t die_ , he almost said. 

He noticed her eyes softening imperceptibly. “Would you mind if I stay here for a bit longer?” 

He should be sleeping again but unable to do so after doing nothing else but that. The undesirable promise of being awake in the dark made him say, “I don’t mind the company.” He considered it for a second; he might not have this opportunity again. “Will you tell me something?”

“What is?”

“The Florents. Tell me about them.”

It was clearly not something she expected from him but she composed herself shortly. “What do you want to know?”

It was almost an interrogation the way they spoke: he asked his questions and she answered them succinctly. It was not until she described her home and her childhood when she showed a hint of fondness for the girl that she had been and the family she had left there. There was a bitterness in her as well, hidden underneath the kind words that she had for her female cousins who laughed freely and with no shortage of suitors at a young age. She wasn’t scornful of them nor of her adequate looks, though, only wistful when she spoke of her cousins’ happy marriages to lesser nobles. 

“Do you regret it?” Five dared to ask once she was past being taciturn. “Marrying Father, having me and Shireen?”

Selyse looked like she caught herself, as if suddenly remembering that this was her child that she was talking to. A flash of shame and guilt crossed her face before it returned to her usual withdrawn expression. She was no different from Stannis, in that respect. “Regret is a rather strong word,” was her reply. She chose her words carefully. “It's my duty to marry and bear children. Women, highborn or not, don’t get a say in their future. It’s the way of things that I already accepted.”

Five was quiet as he let her debate with herself whether she should continue this line of subject. She was aware as well that she already began, and however this conversation ends, there would be no going back. 

“I’m fortunate than most, of that I’m certain,” she said. “I have a husband who respects me, listens to me, and values my worth as a woman and as his wife. He never laid a hand on me or spoke to me rudely despite… Lord Stannis is a harsh man, but he’s not cruel.”

But she was not happy either, trapped in this farce they called marriage. Belatedly, Five realized that it was the son who held the family together. He wondered briefly how it would have held up if Shireen was their only child. Five was no stranger to unhappy marriages, though marriage itself was something that happened to other people and never to him. 

What he was intimately familiar with was the mess of people united together to form what was called a family. No one belonged together, and everyone secretly wanted a way out. Shireen might be an exemption now, but sooner or later she would grow and find herself in the middle of frosty relationships that would impact her already low self-esteem. What a fine group of unloved and malcontent people they make. 

To think that this wasn’t even Five’s first rodeo. 

“No… No, I shouldn’t have said that,” he heard Selyse say abruptly. “This is not the kind of thing that a mother should tell her young son, and I wish you can forget this or think this a dream…” Her eyes were bright in the dark. “But... I’m grateful nonetheless that someone listened for once though cannot understand. I can only hope that you’ll be more fortunate in this venture than me… than your father.” 

He felt her thin hand gingerly squeezing his sprained ones as she bid him sleep. She did not lean over to kiss his forehead, nor did she leave. She reclined back to the hard chair and watched over him. He thought she was humming a tune, or at least she was once she thought he was finally asleep. 

His fever broke during the evening. In the morning, he found her in the same position and eyes shut in slumber. She looked older, worn, and exhausted under the faint sunlight seeping through the windows. This woman was his mother, who bore and brought him to this world at the risk of death, and Five already respected her for that alone. He didn’t wake her when he quietly slipped from the bed, and she hardly budged when he wrapped the blanket over her chair and her thin shoulders. 

☂☂☂☂☂

He was a decent rider when the following year rolled around. Five _aimed_ to be better than average. He was flourishing in his studies and training at arms at a rapid pace and was even told to be excelling beyond the requisite. Cressen was inclined to call him—in minimal words when Five heard him in passing reporting to Stannis—beyond his years in thinking and actions alike. The master-at-arms commended his swift advancement on the bow and arrow, lance, and the sword (blunted but mercifully no longer the childish wooden sword). The toady Axell Florent, his mother’s uncle and the castellan of Dragonstone, called him a prodigy. 

_Words are wind_ , as his father was fond of saying, and Five believed the sense in that seeing as he was yet to apply his garnered knowledge to real-life scenarios. What he _knew_ were improving, though, were his patience for pretentiousness and his restrain that would help him _avoid_ offending one’s sensibilities because that was, dreadfully, a huge deal here. Probably not as much within Dragonstone, but if he was gearing to make an appearance in the royal court with far more delicate people, then subtlety was the key. 

The other aspects of his manners, however, were impeccable after years of Reginald’s discipline. Five seemed to have carried over some of the social graces from his original life. He was pretty sure he still knew how to dance formally, if it came to that (shouldn’t be an issue despite dancing not a part of formal lessons), and to address and acknowledge titles and stations. 

He was familiarized with the Painted Table by Stannis when he deemed him ready to learn statecraft and the system of laws and justice of the Seven Kingdoms. Lessons which Stannis personally oversaw and tended to be overwhelming to a different person, much less a different child. What had constituted as Five’s knowledge of law and punishment from Reginald mainly entailed what they should and they should not do as vigilantes. Their operation had been unmistakably legal, but what had been considered lawful back then when it applied to the Umbrella Academy might have been ambiguous. Stannis challenged him in this field, and Five was determined to prove that he could attain the same level of competence in this area as well. Dragonstone’s library didn’t lack on sources when it came to what Stannis viewed as relevant and essential, not to mention Cressen who was akin to a walking and talking encyclopedia. So Five read and asked his questions. Rinse repeat.

His efforts did not go overlooked; Stannis had the notion that rewarding his diligent son would motivate him to further his studies. When it became evident that Five developed a firm grasp on topics that should be cumbersome for a boy of nine, his father would give him practical incentives such as the telescope to encourage an interest in Astrology. For his birthday that year, it was a surefooted hinny that Five aptly named Diego. Unlike his namesake, Diego was easy to train. 

The items he was gifted by his mother were stitching and kerchiefs she embroidered with the Baratheon Stag or sometimes the Florent Fox. Meanwhile, Shireen decided at age seven that needlework was not for her, to Selyse’s utter chagrin. She gave him journals that she crafted herself with the help of Cressen. Five was the one who introduced her to the concept of notebooks by patching together small parchments and binding them with twine. Five was under the impression that Shireen’s interests were in handicraft where she could utilize her innate resourcefulness and creativity. At this rate, Five wouldn’t be surprised if she eventually invented something from among the rough sketches she liked to make in passing. He might have spotted an early concept for an umbrella, now that he thought about it. As for Devan, given that he was getting closer to the age to properly squire for Stannis, he liked to spare time to accompany Five on casual rides around Dragonstone that let them both explore the expanse of their territory. He shared mostly about his family—his mother and brothers—and what he learned on the outings with Davos who spent quality time with him before he began his squiring, from fishing to handling the sails. 

Five would join the soldier’s daily swimming drills, and Shireen was given the opportunity to go outdoors by watching him by the beach while he swam through the cold waters. He was careful to take warm baths afterward, not wanting to risk colds again. Depending on the tide, he would return to the sea before dusk, though he had to convince Stannis to allow him, and that had been after he _and_ Davos pointed out how it would benefit Five to have the extra hours. They had come to a compromise that Five would have to be accompanied. The guardian on occasion was Davos himself, though often it was a fisherman Davos befriended and trusted who lived by the coast. 

Selyse oftentimes joined Shireen by the shore these days, and they were both the type contented on the sound of the waves of the Narrow Sea alone, so Five often found them simply in each other’s company, with Shireen reading and their mother in her needlework. There were also instances where Five and Shireen would go out for long walks by the beach, and Shireen would extend the invitation to Selyse and be gracefully accepted. It occurred to Five that the time Selyse spent with her children was when there was no pressing matter within Dragonstone that she needed to attend that can be left to the steward. 

Their mother wasn’t in the habit of embracing him or Shireen, like how he expected a normal human mother would act, but she showed her gestures of affection in the littlest of things like sitting beside him in a fireplace and basking in the quietude without any words exchanged between them, or brushing Shireen’s hair aside from her scarred face and combing the strands with her fingers. Shireen smiled the brightest at her touch that it would spur Selyse to brush Shireen’s hair herself. 

There was also an odd tradition of sorts that the three of them unknowingly developed, which was waiting for Stannis' arrival by the shore once his ship was spotted arriving. It was incredibly awkward at first, of that Five was fully aware, but he liked to think that the awkwardness was largely on Stannis’ part. Stannis didn’t expect it to happen again, but when it appeared that it wasn’t mere coincidence that his wife and two children happened to be waiting for him by the beach at the time of his arrival time and time again, he learned to take it in stride—that _and_ Shireen’s insistence to embrace him tightly whenever he returned. Five knew Stannis would get used to it.

Five did. 

☂☂☂☂☂

The balanced diet, swimming, and morning jog at the Dragonstone flight of steps paid off when he noticed that his height spiked like a weed (and gained him a nice tan courtesy of the outdoors and the seawater). He was taller than his original ten-year-old body, taller by a few inches than his original thirteen-year-old version even, and definitely not in a lanky way. He was forming a sinewy build, paired with broad shoulders which were common Baratheon traits that his father still visibly had in his age. Five was told that Stannis wasn’t even the burliest among his siblings. He was going to count the Baratheon genes as a blessing then. 

His hair was darker, a thick mop of black that tended to get on the way annoyingly and couldn’t be properly kept in one direction. He had it trimmed every month until he decided to let it grow so he could tie it easily instead. It was slightly curly and long now, and he would be borrowing Shireen’s hairpins soon just to keep it away from his face. All that hair growth and it wouldn’t be long until he sported facial hair too. 

It was halfway on the year when Stannis summoned him in his solar to tell him that Five would be accompanying him and Davos back to King’s Landing. Stannis’ face soured at the mention that King Robert had been insistent more than ever that Steffon was to be presented at court to meet the royal family, and Renly’s claim that Stannis wouldn’t let his son step a foot outside of Dragonstone hadn’t helped.

Five tilted his head inquisitively. “Tell me true, Father, are they expecting that you’ll be bringing a sickly, frail child?” 

“Yes,” Stannis answered bluntly before gritting his teeth in annoyance. “Because I don’t speak about you to anyone who will listen, they get it into their heads that my son and heir is of poor health like my daughter. They even forget that she recovered years ago.”

Five scoffed. They sure liked to exaggerate the negative. Figures. “They know nothing then.” 

“They don’t,” Stannis agreed. “Let them gossip and titter about. They’ll find out soon that they’re incredibly wrong.” He leveled him a stare. “They won’t be kind, even if they see you for themselves. They will mock you for who your father, your mother, and your sister are, at your face or behind your back. Don’t expect to make friends, though some will try to approach you with that pretense. Cautiously choose the companions you keep for they will speak of your character. Prepare yourself for prejudice, from kin and courtiers alike, for they will try to find your faults and you’ll be the talk of the court for weeks. Do not give them the satisfaction that you care deeply for their words; words are wind, you know that. I am not asking you to be perfect, but act as what befits your status and _never_ behave in a manner that will bring shame to you and our name.” 

No doubt the advice would be tested immediately in King’s Landing if Stannis was setting aside a time for this conversation. Likely from first-hand experience as well. “Understood, Father. I do have a question, however.” 

“Speak.”

“In the instance that I face a situation where I’m asked to prove the worth of my name, do I have your permission to do so?”

Oh, Five didn’t have any problem acting on the urge to beat away preconceptions when necessary, and he certainly wouldn’t back out of fights that he would be challenged into. He figured that beating the shit out of each other was the standard way of resolving any discourtesy. It wouldn’t be his fault if they believed he was afraid to dirty his hands; he would fight to win, nothing more, nothing less. Still, it was pertinent to ask the person who would be held accountable for Five’s words and actions. 

Stannis observed him critically, and Five had to admit that his gaze could be unnerving at times, but he was not the scariest thing he had encountered in his twice-damned life so far.

“You do,” Stannis finally said, almost approving. “Only if I know that it isn’t the consequence of your own provocation and if you’re certain that you’ll win.” 

Five smirked. Worked for him. “Of course, Father.”

☂☂☂☂☂

Five bid his perfunctory farewell to Shireen and Selyse on the day he left Dragonstone, though not without making a promise to his sister that they would be keeping correspondence. 

For the first time, his mother planted a kiss on top of his head and asked him to look after himself. It wouldn’t be long until he reached her height—but that was neither here nor there.

He was watching Dragonstone by the deck get smaller and smaller far into the horizon and felt an almost childlike giddiness to see King’s Landing. The trip would not be as hurried without modern convenience, but it was a time for planning his itinerary for a year in the capital.

He couldn’t wait.

☂☂☂☂☂

Murmurs already followed them once he set foot at the Red Keep, after that short ride from the docks to the keep where the stink of the city could be smelled from a mile away. Stannis was right; Steffon would be the present intrigue of the court that would last depending on how interesting he was. He knew he was already breaking the misconceptions that he was a possible invalid or too weak to make the trip from Dragonstone to King’s Landing. 

The Red Keep was what Dragonstone wasn’t—humid, dry, and bright, one way or another. The sunlight illuminated the place fully during the day, and the atmosphere of the keep was lively with activity. The throne room was large and littered with courtiers and supplicants who started whispering among themselves when the herald announced his and Stannis’ arrival. 

Stannis actually looked fairly surprised that the king himself was holding court but smoothly hid his reaction through clipped pleasantries and then: “Your Grace, may I present my son, Steffon Baratheon, of age ten, and the heir of Dragonstone.”

Five bowed. “It’s an honor to be here, Your Grace. I thank you for having me.”

“ _Your Grace_! Ha! I’m your uncle, boy. I expect my brother told you that much,” King Robert exclaimed in his roaring voice, staring at Five like he was a curious little thing he discovered. “You don’t look sick and weak like many say you are,” the king pointed out blithely before his laugh shook within the large hall. “Look at you, big at eleven! You even look more of a Baratheon than my sons! At least one got the strength of our blood. Damn to the seven hells who says otherwise.” 

Five took note of a couple of things. 

One, his uncle approved of him, needless his _drunk_ —because he _was_ drunk, that much Five could plainly see—approval might be to Five. But given that there was no love lost between him and Stannis, it was something. Two, the queen wasn’t happy at the claim that his sons who favored her genes more _didn’t_ bear any resemblance to their father. Five hazarded a glance at the golden royal children, and it didn’t take him two seconds to recognize that the pinched look on the crown prince’s face was morphing into envy and venom directed at him. Three, the same statement caused a restless, unhappy tension among the crowd, particularly from the advisors and the old man standing by the throne. Four, instead of a gratified gleam on Stannis’ eyes, it was a flash of bemusement that crossed his face and was gone in a blink. And, five, Stannis clearly didn’t appreciate the unfavorable attention that they were garnering from the queen and her firstborn. 

“Thank you for your kind words, Your Grace,” Five replied evenly. “I can only count myself fortunate to bear my father’s features, and I strive to become at least half the man that he is.” 

There was another bout of scattered murmurs that Five couldn’t quite discern if agreeable or not, but his statement earned him a peculiar look from his father and another laugh from the king. “Yes, yes, there’s not even an ounce of your mother I can see on you.” He turned to Stannis and leered. “Is there something you’re not telling us, brother?”

_A real class act, this king._ Whatever expression Stannis had been sporting was gone in an instant. Fury reeked from him as his jaw tightened dangerously. The chuckle among the crowd from what Stannis considered an insult to his person only served to fan the flames of anger close to tipping over the edge. 

“We officially welcome you to King’s Landing, Steffon, and we know you’ve had a long journey that we hope you’ll get used to,” interrupted the firm and tactful voice of the old man that Five presumed was the Hand of the King. “Lord Stannis, Steffon, we’ll let you and your retinue take the time to rest and refresh.” His tone brooked no argument that Stannis took it for a dismissal.

☂☂☂☂☂

Five was given quarters on the same floor as his father’s at Maegor’s Holdfast. Methodically, he donned a clean ensemble and organized his belongings. He would have the time to parse through the interaction earlier; for now, he had a letter to make. 

Once he was done with the task, he counted an estimated three hours before dinner, hours that could be whiled away for getting the lay of the land, if you would. As if summoned, the knight Stannis assigned to look after him, Ser Justin Massey, came across him. Five thought his timing was impeccable, probably with Stannis not wanting him to wander alone within the Red Keep. His father’s concern was a tad amusing sometimes when it wasn’t annoying.

“My lord,” Massey said cheerfully. “Off to sightseeing?”

“I am. You coming with?”

Five saw him around Dragonstone before, though he never talked to him. Massey didn’t appear to mind the job that is basically babysitting if it was any other boy, and he enthusiastically shared his history of squiring for King Robert once. Massey was overall affable, and he must be competent else Stannis wouldn’t be keeping him around, all smiles that he was, much less assign him to guard his son. 

Massey grinned charmingly to a couple of giggling maids who pass them by, making Five snort. “I’m glad that amuses you, my lord.”

Five raised an unimpressed eyebrow. “Is it something you picked up on from squiring for the king?” 

Massey chuckled. “Likely. His Grace has good taste.” He nodded sagely, his eyes lit with mirth. “It might seem foolish now, but you’ll eventually have the same appetite for it.”

Five grunted noncommittally. He had been a teenager once, and he could say that he was not the type to be at the mercy of his hormones. He didn’t see how it would be any different this time. 

He heard Massey sigh suddenly. “I forgot that my lord is too mature for his age to be acting like a fool,” he muttered. “He’s as sensible as his venerable lord father.” 

Five was within his rights to smack Massey for that mock but settled instead for a smile that was all teeth. 

The castle’s library was grander and more expansive than Dragonstone’s. There were older scrolls and bulkier tomes as well that Five didn’t waste getting his hands on. They were mostly regarding the Targaryen lineage and chronicles about the previous kings, and, interestingly, voluminous information about the Red Keep. Massey was somewhat amused that the first spot he got into was among the ancient and musty parchments. 

Five waved him off. Massey would tire of watching him pore over the books. “You’re free to go, ser. I’ll be here until supper. You can fetch me then.”

To his credit, Massey didn’t laugh at a boy’s dismissal. Steffon was still his liege lord’s son. “I’ll be outside, my lord.”

The library appeared rarely visited by anyone but the maester, judging from the dust on a couple of shelves. There were varied subjects that he was itching to dig in, though he settled by taking the one that would prove useful for the moment. _Getting the lay of the land._ By the time Five exited, learned more of the Red Keep’s history and of the existence of tunnels and hidden passages littered within the keep, though their exact locations were up for discovery. There would be a time for that. 

☂☂☂☂☂

It was the complete royal family on the table, with Steffon, Stannis, Renly, and the Hand of the King, Jon Arryn. King Robert hardly paid attention to the queen who was all courteous smiles at their guests and laughed politely at the jests Renly liked to make as if it was his job to do so. A jester, this young lord uncle of his. Queen Cersei was ever more transparent to Five, however. As if he could forget her expression of displeasure earlier. The crown prince looked terribly bored when he was not glancing at Five in askance, while his two younger siblings were most curious about Five after learning he was their cousin. 

“So it’s true that you’re our cousin then,” the girl, Myrcella, said in delight. “I thought Uncle Renly japes since we never saw you before.”

Renly feigned hurt then sighed. “Not that I blame you. I’d sooner think my brother Stannis’ son is a myth myself for I saw naught a shadow of my nephew.” He nodded at Five. “But here Steffon is in the flesh. I can now assure myself that the letter of gratitude that I receive yearly isn’t from a ghost of Dragonstone.” 

Myrcella giggled good-naturedly at that. Doubtless, Stannis heard it as well despite currently engaged with Lord Arryn who drew Stannis out of his brooding silence in between deftly moderating King Robert’s cups. If Stannis didn’t find the remark amusing, he didn’t show any reaction to it. 

Five wore a slight smile. “My lord uncle is never remiss with his gifts, and I treasure them up to this day.”

Renly grinned at the praise. “Oh, hush, Steffon. I’m only ‘Renly’ or ‘uncle’ to my nieces and nephews. I’m pleased to know my gifts are doing you a service. Stannis never said so! Now, I’ve heard that you’re rather bookish. Should I send books next time instead?”

“They would be appreciated,” Five said. He had a suspicion that he would get another copy of _Dance of Dragons_ with ostentatious cover design this time _._

“How about an instrument?”

“I’m afraid I do not have the temperament for it,” he said dryly. To Myrcella, Tommen, and Joffrey (to appear genial and oblivious to his distaste), he asked, “Do you play, cousins?”

“Music is for women,” Joffrey derided. “I’d rather practice the sword.” 

“I see. That’s an admirable dedication to the training of arms, my prince,” Five replied dispassionately as he sliced the venison. He was unlikely to get any meaningful conversation with the royal brat, a brat who was supposed to be older than Steffon. 

“I don’t know how to play the harp,” Myrcella admitted in a rush after sensing the air. “I’d like to learn though.”

“Me too,” Tommen said eagerly, oblivious. “I heard a singer play once.”

“You _should_ learn archery instead. You’re bad at your wooden stick, so you’ll be bad at real steel as well,” Joffrey sneered at his brother. “Bow and arrow should be enough for your short and weak hands.”

Myrcella lowered her eyes. The words, though, seem to have gone over Tommen’s head seeing as he merely pouted as if he was told a bad joke. “I’m still young. I’ll be good with practice!”

“No, you won’t. You’re small and _fat_. I wager you’ll grow fatter.”

The insult landed on Tommen this time, and the boy seemed like he was about to cry. Myrcella looks ready to defend her brother. “I’ll be happy to join you in archery, Tommen,” Five interrupted. “Myrcella too, if she wants.”

“Yes!” Tommen exclaimed excitedly, and then looked confused. “But shouldn’t you play with Joffrey? He’s older and big. Smaller than you, but big.”

Five wanted to laugh at the brat’s reaction to being called small. “If the crown prince will have me, I won’t mind playing with swords with him,” said Five, with a mild emphasis on the right word that he knew would get a rise on the brat. 

“I don’t _play_ with swords, cousin,” the brat practically spat on their relation. “Perhaps _you_ play with swords on that island of yours. I don’t. Pray tell, what have you mastered?”

The conversations petered out in interest at the children’s side of the table. The king went as far as to put down his wine in a pause. 

“I’d like to think I’m decent with a sword, a dagger, and a lance,” listed Five. “Though I’m better in archery, and I started picking up on spear.”

Joffrey sneered. “Decent? You can lift them steadily for a minute, is that it?”

Five’s lips curled sardonically. “My arms can do more than _lift_ them, I’m afraid.” As if an afterthought, he added, “My prince.”

Joffrey seethed entertainingly while Five kept a bland face and swallowed his food, unperturbed. 

King Robert didn’t completely miss the antagonism between the two, though it seemed to be a source of amusement for him. “If you two like comparing your cocks, the yard is open to test your worth. And I better see more than floundering and prancing about.”

“Your Grace,” Lord Arryn cut in. “It’s a harmless competition between two boys. Once they’ve spent a considerable time together, in their lessons or otherwise, they’ll be the staunchest of companions. As cousins, how about—”

King Robert’s booming voice shook the table. “ _Bah!_ It’s not like they will kill each other, Jon. A spar. That’s it.” 

Queen Cersei was quick to pipe in a gentle voice, “My love, Lord Arynn is right. It was an innocuous row between two children, surely a spar is not—”

“ _Quiet_ , woman,” King Robert hissed, the queen’s voice igniting his temper that combined detrimentally with his drunkenness. “I don’t recall asking your opinion. And it’s about bloody time you quit coddling the boy. By the gods, I look at him and see only a spoiled brat!” 

Joffrey took an interesting shade of fury, shame, and hurt, though his scowl and bristling he saved for his mother who must have slighted his sensibilities first by calling him a child. King Robert ignored his son in favor of Steffon, pointedly asking with his cup of wine, “What say you, boy?”

Five would be _delighted_ to maim the brat, no questions asked. His face remained impassive, and if had the energy to muster pity to the royal brat, he might. Except if there was an ounce of sympathy in Five, it would be to his father and his tight jaw; Robert spoke as if Five was lacking parental supervision and Stannis invisible. Five chanced a glance at his father, and when their eyes met Stannis’ rigidity slackened imperceptibly. They had talked about this, hadn’t they? 

“It’ll be an honor to spar with the crown prince,” Five answered coolly, though underneath he was looking forward to giving this brat a lesson. A lesson from his betters. “I leave the time and day for you, my prince. I hope we both learn a lesson out of it,” he added, just to spite. 

Stannis remained grinding his teeth, though he ate and drank his lemon water instead. Five continued his meal as if nothing happened. He might have laid on his level-headedness thickly and came across as patronizing. Given the chance, he would have dangled the brat on the ceiling after he opened his mouth to speak. Lord Arryn was gauging him, his old but sharp eyes on Five. 

“We have another cousin, don’t we?” Myrcella’s soft voice pierced the short, disappointing silence that ensued. Five wouldn’t be surprised to learn that it was a common setting. “Shireen. Your sister. Will she be visiting here soon?”

“Not anytime soon, I’m afraid,” Five told her simply. “Though she made me promise to write to her while I’m here with our father. I’ll pass your regards to her in my next letter. Or, if you like, you can compose her one and I’ll include it with mine.”

Myrcella brightened at the suggestion. “I can?” 

“Sweetling, we must not disturb your cousin Shireen,” said the queen regretfully. “She spends most of her time resting, and any more of that can strain her.”

How writing letters could _strain_ Shireen, Five could only wonder. Stannis beat him to it, however. “Shireen can perfectly write and will send her replies if she so wishes,” he said flatly. “She was cured of her illness, and you’ll find that she neither lost her hands nor her wits from it, both of which required to write a letter, I heard.”

The queen’s green eyes turned icy toward Stannis and smiled an empty smile and said nothing more. 

Five watched the table. He had only been at two places in Westeros so far, and already he was getting the sense that he would continue encountering motley crews of people unwillingly conflated to form families. It only served to remember his own family that he left behind. 

He wasn’t looking forward to putting up with this kind of shit for a year.

☂☂☂☂☂

The end of the week drew in an equable lull. The royal brat was verbose in his claims that he would be handing his cousin’s ass to him, and that out of his fear of royal retribution Steffon was hiding in the library if Stannis’ skirts weren't presently available for him. It was a well-received joke that was so ridiculously absurd even Five was tempted to split into a manic grin that he had to watch carefully lest he slipped it on his face at the thought of putting the _righteous_ fear in the shitty brat of a prince. 

Stannis made no mention of what was to occur at the end of the week. _He doesn’t seem the type to worry,_ Five mused, _definitely_ _not about a childish farce instigated by an unsavory child and his tactless father_ , _that is_. Stannis didn’t appear to _care_ , until their dinner in his office the evening before the fateful day. 

“Steffon,” he began, “I don’t blame you for your uncle and cousin’s inane whims, and while I have confidence in your own judgment and capabilities, you have to know that Joffrey is predisposed to cruelty, born out of overindulgence by his mother and the lack of recognition by his father, and will not fight fairly if it means humiliation.”

Five considered the warning momentarily. He already knew most of this, or at least has a general grasp on Joffrey’s personality from what he could see of him. “Cruel?” he intoned. “He’s prone to insults, that’s true, but what makes you say he’s cruel?” 

Stannis’s mouth set on a thin line. “I remembered when he was young. There was a cat in the kitchen that the cooks and serving maids were wont to feed scraps and fish heads. One of them told him that it was pregnant and thought that he might like to care for one of its kits. He sliced the cat open to see if it was true, and he liked the number of kits well enough that he presented them to his father. Robert hit him so hard I thought he killed him,” he told Five, and if it was anyone else, it was easy to mistake Stannis’ voice as weary. “I tell you this not to frighten you but to warn you that your opponent is spiteful, immature, and desperate to prove himself. To his father especially. And he has enough royalty in him to justify any of his actions.”

Somehow, Five wasn’t surprised at all that the royal brat was capable of such, now that he thought about it. It was a worsening symptom by the looks of it, and should his unmitigated behavior persisted, well, Joffrey’s rule as a king would be the stuff of songs and ballads. Five reconsidered his approach; he doubted they would be using steel tomorrow, though he could think of ways to bleed the brat. He could leave him with bruises to make a show of it, maybe a sprained ankle and wrist as well to blessedly confine him in his chambers for at least a month of Five’s stay in the Red Keep. 

But he understood as well the underlying caution from his father. It wouldn’t be wise to vex the royal family (probably not Robert seeing as he was enthusiastic at the prospect of a duel, but he was only one person), and while Five didn't care if he made enemies, he would be involving Stannis and the rest of his loyal men. Joffrey was certainly not worth the hostility of the entire castle. 

Five entertained the idea of prowling the royal apartments during the dead of the night to give the royal brat a scare that wouldn’t have him leave his quarters in fright for days. It would be pleasant, though it would require more effort without his powers. Joffrey was not even worth all that trouble. 

“I shall try not to provoke him any further, Father,” Five replied noncommittally. 

☂☂☂☂☂

They were both dressed in a light mail shirt; any more and it would be too much to handle for the proud and valiant crown prince Joffrey who hated paddings. The brat refused the use of wooden practice swords and wanted the blunted ones for tourneys, the only steel they were allowed. 

King Robert was notably absent, a fact which Joffrey dismayed over. The queen was present, however, and so were two of the Kingsguard, Lannister and Trant, and the prince’s sworn knight called the Hound, Clegane. Myrcella and Tommen were absent too, though Five believed it was because they were not permitted by their mother who sniffed disdainfully on her younger children’s fondness for their cousin Steffon. 

On the other side of the small hall were Massey, Davos, and Rambton, an older knight accompanying Stannis. Renly was also around to watch, standing by Stannis, wherein if the latter was a stoic statue of a man, the former was all jovial prattling over two children fighting with basically toy swords. He lamented that Robert wasn’t around to witness two Baratheon boys engaged in a friendly duel like he remembered his older brothers did at Storm’s End. Renly chirped that despite it was Stannis who kept losing to a tussle with Robert back then (much to Stannis’ chagrin at the remembrance), Steffon could still prove himself better than his father, as Renly was fond of saying. For him, it was a shame for Robert not to personally witness it, or his son’s triumph, whichever it would be. Five suspected that King Robert was _occupied_ by something else that wasn’t two boys flailing with edgeless blades, but Five honestly didn’t really care. 

Five spied two more people lingering about in their own corners, almost unnoticed, and he would have put a name on the vaguely familiar faces if not for the shield handed to him. It was plain black, unlike the one painted with the red and yellow sigil of the Baratheon-Lannister stag and lion which was promptly given to Joffrey. Consequently, Five noticed the prince’s rapidly paling complexion and his unfocused eyes that darted around the hall until they landed on Five. He met the stare levelly, forcing Joffrey to turn away with a sneer, his chin jutted out in arrogance.

He settled on a casual stance to distribute the weight on both of his arms. The balance on both the shield and sword was not the same as what he was using in Dragonstone—the shield was lighter, the sword heavier. _Oh, well_. A challenge was a challenge. 

Joffrey copied his movement, all stiff and taut but ready to pounce. His footing was decent for a novice, though there was not a single muscle in him that was lax. He looked ferocious with the way he was eager to gain an upper hand by taking the first offensive move.

Five let him have it. 

Deftly, he stepped away from the charge to his right. The brat must have noticed his adjusting with the sword beforehand; he kept his advance mostly to Five’s right flank. Not bad, Five admitted. Joffrey was actually using his brain and not all his bravado. Unfortunately, the prince wasn’t facing someone equally inexperienced. 

Joffrey’s dominant side was his right, and keeping on Five’s right meant that he had to center his balance to his left. The prince wasn’t as dexterous as Five was in general, and his feet weren’t as stable after adjusting to his new center. 

Five took advantage of it with a lunge that hit Joffrey’s shield squarely that it greatly startled the latter with its abruptness. Five had to give him credit for putting up his defense in time. At the unexpected quirk at the end of Five’s mouth, Joffrey narrowed his eyes defiantly and went for the offense once more. 

He avoided the attack with a brisk twist. Five observed the queen uneasy on her seat, her image of composure vacillating from worrying and being pleased when Joffrey continued to charge and believing Five could only do so much as a dodge. A sweep of a glance around on Joffrey’s side of the party, Five could count mostly bored faces. After a collision of shield and sword, Five decided to meet Joffrey’s blade with his own, momentarily relishing the flash of surprise that crossed the brat’s face at the force and sound of the blow behind the hit. Five stepped back fluidly and placed a distance between them, greatly perplexing his opponent. 

Five was right to bank on a child’s recklessness, and in no time, Joffrey was right up his present position in a few quick steps to follow up with thrusts in rapid succession. Five swerved, remaining on the defensive until their positions reversed and he caught sight of Stannis watching him attentively with a frown. At this point, Five believed that Stannis already figured him out. 

He allowed Joffrey five more desperate strikes that he met unfailingly every single time. Gradually, he drew him closer and closer… Five sidestepped and brought down the edge of his shield with all his strength down to the flat of Joffrey’s blade, enough to bring down his sword heavily. In a satisfying look of alarm, Five propelled forward to Joffrey’s personal space before he could recover back to his form and started his assault that drove Joffrey to rely on blocking with measly parries. 

While he was hardly wielding a foil, Five was able to execute consecutive remises and beats interspersed with feints that effectively disoriented Joffrey out of his posture. A flunge was the final move that successfully wrenched the blade from the prince’s hold. In a grip of panic, Joffrey hefted his decorated shield with both hands and what remained of his energy to halt, futilely, the barrage of assault. In one last bluff, Joffrey missed his footing backward and tripped. 

Five, on the other hand, loomed over Joffrey and his pitiful position on the floor. In a fit of inspiration, he arced the sword overhead, much to the horror of Joffrey’s mother, causing her to let out a cry of terror and sudden alarm from the kingsguard. Though given the distance, they wouldn’t be able to cross the floor before he could bring the sword down and crack the brat’s head open like a coconut, and Five very much _knew_ it. 

Slowly, a wide, savage grin broke on Five’s face, making sure that it was seen solely by Joffrey. Good. It would drive home his intended point in this ludicrous display. 

“I yield!” Joffrey screeched once he seemingly found his voice and the strength to retreat by staggeringly crawling back with his elbows. “I yield!” 

Five halted his movement as if caught in a standstill, keeping the crowd on tenterhooks until they squirmed nicely. 

He relaxed, straightening his back and chucking away his shield and sword before extending a steady arm to the crown prince. Joffrey stared at him as if he grew another head, before setting his sight apprehensively on the extended hand. Five had bountiful patience at that moment that he gladly waited for him to accept the proffered hand. 

When Joffrey finally did, Five deftly helped him on his feet. “That was a good match, my prince,” he offered graciously, loud enough to be heard by others. 

The royal brat’s lips twisted in contempt, with no small measure of frothing rage and ignominy that he comfortably settled himself in once he got a hold of a bit of his dignity while standing. Five was aware that it was no longer a rivalry for Joffrey; from then on, Five was his enemy that must be eliminated. Not Five’s intention in the first place, but screw it. _Someone needs to literally beat sense in this boy,_ he thought unpleasantly.

The upside from this would be the royal brat’s weariness around Five. If only it would be enough to discourage anyone to put them together in a single room for hours, especially if they were to continue their lessons together. Something to _not_ look forward to, but Five would cross the bridge when he got there. 

For now, he counted making a memorable impression as a win. 

☂☂☂☂☂

He counted on being avoided by unsavory brats afterward the display… and he was, to his joy. They said that he merely indulged the prince known for his foolish whims that should already be disciplined out of an almost fourteen-year-old boy who would ascend the throne. Add to that the running gossip mill that Joffrey should have known better than provoking Stannis Baratheon’s son who was very much his father in the making. Five supposed it wouldn’t hurt for his budding reputation if he unwittingly intimidated some. 

The rumors placed him in the crosshairs of King Robert and Queen Cersei, with varying responses from each. King Robert became effusive to him and was prone to patting his shoulder like they were close friends—while he only had reproach for his own son for ‘being beaten with a stick by a younger boy who would rather spend his time sequestered with books’, much to the royal brat’s mounting animosity towards Five which was shared by Queen Cersei who thought of Steffon a brute. Not that Five particularly give a shit. 

To his confusion, Tommen and Myrcella grew fonder of him, and it was apparent that there was no love lost between them and their eldest bully of a brother. It was their lessons that Five took part in since, as he was told, Prince Joffrey had a different kind of lectures altogether as the crown prince. The setup worked preferably for all parties seeing as the younger prince and princess made for a far more preferable company, especially during the oftentimes dull lectures of Grand Maester Pycelle whose drawling voice matched his dragging manner. Tommen had a short attention span, and in a stroke of an idea (and not wanting to drown alone in the tedium that was Pycelle), Five introduced him to origami. Tommen was certainly well within his rights to waste parchments.

Mrycella was unlike Shireen, bubbly and energetic whereas his sister was reserved and shy. Five knew they would make for pleasant companions to each other, though; Shireen was a good listener who would enjoy what Myrcella would share with her. There was hardly a particular reason not to let them meet in person, if their steady exchange of lengthening letters were to go by, but there was the obstacle that was Cersei’s aversion to any of her children getting in contact with any other children, or, specifically, any of Stannis’ children. Not that she could stop Tommen and Myrcella from associating themselves with him when she only had eyes for Joffrey. Five should be grateful for it, he supposed. It would have been three golden royal brats that he would have to stomach.

The letters between him and Shireen were continuous, and throughout the months, he could see through the paper how she became willful in the smallest of ways. She was starting to learn the fundamentals of accounting under Maester Cressen’s guidance and was given pointers by Selyse on effective household management. In her latest, she said that she was being taught how to read ledgers. Five, in turn, wrote that they were halfway in the numerous faith and religion practiced in Westeros and Essos. In truth, Pycelle deemed it unnecessary to cover beyond the introduction and minimal definition of each, and he moved on to tackle the Faith of the Seven and the significance of Westeros’ dominant religion to the development of the kingdom. 

It led him to read _The Seven-Pointed Star_ in-between meals that he had to assure Stannis that, no, he wasn’t planning to run off and devote himself to the faith, and his interest was purely from an academic standpoint. His father accepted the answer well enough. Davos, meanwhile, found his curiosity peculiar and was able to provide an insight into how the smallfolk viewed the religion. Here in King’s Landing, the Faith wasn’t as easily dismissed unlike on the island. While there was a sept in Dragonstone, House Baratheon of Dragonstone held an agnostic view toward the seven gods. Even Selyse, who Five knew prayed to the gods, was not overly dedicated to the worship.

The Great Sept of Baelor was a grand architecture itself, preferably seen in daylight. The building was imposing in the cover of the night though with some of its charms retained, as most were wont to appear during evenings. Including him. Five walked the streets as a highborn with his own protection, while an unknown prowler among the low ramshackle rooftops at night, cloaked and unescorted. The solo trips allowed him to observe the streets of the capital cleared of crowds eyeing him in suspicion. If he was feeling more daring, and bored, he would traverse Flea Bottom to take in all it could provide during a less hectic period of time, stink of the poor and the homeless included. This part of the capital never slept, he had long noticed, just as he had noticed in this newfound life of his that seemingly encroached him into further integration in an unknown world as a whole new different person. 

For all that King’s Landing was the perfect model city to show the stark contrast between two opposing social classes in a feudal system, and the entirety of this world as if born from numerous pages of a fantasy novel, this place felt more real to him than the desolated world he had lived in for years. That reality was so far away now, and in a half-dream state, it was as if it never existed at all and he was merely Steffon Baratheon right from the start.

_But I’m not_. He glared at the dark skies littered with the constellations that appeared quite similar in his homeworld.

He remembered the same feeling of security when he foolishly believed that he successfully stopped the Apocalypse with his siblings. He could grow up normally, that was what Hazel told him before. It wouldn’t have been so bad, to grow up with the family he thought he saved.

If some other force beyond his understanding thought to distract him from his original purpose… well, they didn’t know him then.

If he had to spend another forty-five or fifty or a hundred years, then so be it. 

**Author's Note:**

> *regarding the ages, I might have taken some of character ages in the books and in the show.


End file.
